


Barefooted Fistfighters

by louhearted



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, M/M, a lot of the latter i am truly sorry, in terms of closeting and general internalized prejudices
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 16:23:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5832439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/louhearted/pseuds/louhearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Louis have had plenty opportunities to call it quits, rationally speaking. But when the heart wants to keep on fighting, that's what you do. No matter how many bruises, no matter the scars, because you have found your home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theseblueskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseblueskies/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, [my love ♡](http://www.hazaesthetic.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I wish I could give you the finished product right now, but I hit a bit of an emotional low, and well... patience is a virtue right? *hides* I will try to update this as often and as fast as possible, but you out of all people know that I am a perfectionist when it comes to procrastination so... I WILL TRY MY VERY BEST! (And if it doesn't work out the way i have planned it... well there are still many many birthdays for you to come right? hahaha)
> 
> Now here comes the first real surprise: Guess who has been my secret co-agent in this? That's right the beautiful [Mae ♡](http://www.wecouldliveforever.tumblr.com/). My beautiful beta for these drabbles :) Thank you, babe!! But don't worry, Maddie, you will always have the honour of being my beta on all my other stories, because you were the first and you will be my last. Pinky promise! I mean... I might still share my stories with Mae prematurely, simply because, but... i digress xP
> 
> These drabbles came to be, because I have been listening to more and more german songs, and well... almost 80% of them reminded me of Larry. Which let's be real here, probably had nothing to do with the songs themselves, but with me being a demon larrie.
> 
> The main song that inspired this story is called: [Herz über Kopf by Joris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oq0rrYrufYU) . It's basically a song about someone realizing that they should have left a long time ago, but their heart keeps screaming for them to stay. Because they are head over heels in love with their partner and rationality really got the shorter straw in that case. You could listen to the song to get a feeling for the story, even if you don't understand the words. It is a really nice song. I promise I am not payed for this kind of promo. I just really love that song hahaha
> 
> I love you very much a lot, and please forgive me for giving you a WIP for your birthday *curls further into my corner of shame*.

"Do you think we're going to make it?"

"Of course, we are, Hazza. We're going to win this, and we are going to take on the world." Louis hushed voice was close to Harry's ear, his warm breath on Harry's cheek, his chest expanding against Harry's ribs, and his hand, his hand drew worlds into the dark shadows of their x-factor room. As if there were stars close enough to grasp just above Harry's bunk bed.

"What about us then? You and me?"

Louis' hand stilled.

"We'll be brilliant Harry, those curls and my endless wit, what could possibly go wrong?"

And whatever it was that Louis saw in Harry's eyes, that made him press himself so much closer to the warm body next to him, whatever it was, Harry wanted to keep it forever. He wanted this boy forever.

 

The other boys weren't clueless of course, they saw how Louis' bed stayed clean and without creases most nights, they saw the small touches, and they saw the magnetism between Harry and Louis. It just took them a few weeks, to openly ask them about it.

It was Niall who had the courage to speak up, while they were all lounging around the common room, blankly staring at the screen of the TV where the DVD menu was on display, generic music wafting through the speakers.

"What's up with you guys, anyway?" Brave but not exactly subtle, that was Niall, as he threw his head back against the couch, to throw a handful of crisps into his mouth, his eyes fixed on the pair lounging on the couch above him.

Their legs so entangled that it was hard to tell, where one boy began and the other one ended.

"Whatcha mean?" Louis laughed, his hand slowing its movement in Harry's hair. He loved playing with the springy bits on the side, and he loved how Harry's eyelids fluttered when he tugged a bit harder, he loved how pliant Harry turned. He loved being this close to his boy.

"You two, " Niall waved an unintelligible hand, his fingers shimmering with residue grease and salt. "You're always all....close and stuff."

"Oh, Niall, you could have just said if you wanted to join us!" Louis laughed, but he felt Harry tense beside him and he dreaded the feeling of what was to come. His skin was prickling and his heart was jack-rabbiting in his chest. There was a storm brewing and he should walk away.

"No, I mean- " Niall's eyebrows furrowed.

"He means to ask, if we should be worried." Liam says and Louis really wants to know what has made Liam so stuck up.

They were really not getting along at the moment, and he knows that he shouldn't prod all the time, and maybe he should knock it off with the pranks, but Liam always made it so easy. And he was so serious. Always so serious. Why should he be worried now? Their next live show was six days from now. He said as much. And suddenly Harry was grabbing his hand, the one that had been entangled in his hair and he pressed their palms together. The feeling of dread began to grow in the pit of his stomach. He felt heavy, as if glue was weighing him down, filling up his airways.

"Are you two, you know, together? Is there something going on?" Zayn asked and Louis' head whipped to his left, where Zayn was lounging on an arm chair. Harry's hand was warm and sweaty and so much bigger than his own.

"No." He said, but it sounded like a question.

It was a god damn question. One that had been on the tip of his tongue for weeks now. It had been on the tip of his tongue when Harry had first cuddled himself next to Louis before they went to sleep. All those unsaid words filled his mouth like molasses every time Harry looked at him with those bright and open and kind eyes, and when he was the only one to laugh at his stupid jokes. And those were the words he traced into Harry's back time and time again, when they whispered promises of forever into the night and into their skins and into everything they could get a hold on, because everything was moving so fast and they just wanted to hold on to the moment. But he had never gotten an answer and now they were here and Harry's grip just tightened.

"Yes." Harry whispered and he sounded desperate almost, he sounded terrified, he sounded so sure of himself. "We're the dream team, it's us against the world."

"We know, Hazza, you never shut up about that." Zayn says and his eyes crinkled up, it was completely out of his control and the fondness in his dark eyes was extraordinary.

"But we wanted to know if you were like... together together. Because people on like tumblr and stuff, they are all on that, and we don't want to get in trouble because... isn't it against the rules to have like relationships on the show?" Bloody Liam and his rules.

"We're not so, no need to worry."

"It's okay if you are, mate." Niall said. His voice muffled by the crisps bag that he was currently trying to inhale, because apparently you had to eat the broken off crumbs as well. "If you're gay I mean. Nothing wrong with that."

"What if we were though? A thing I mean?" Harry asked and Louis wanted to kiss him right then and there. Just this once. Their three friends looked at them, their looks ranging from fond to worried to curious.

"Just be careful, lads, I really don't think that it's allowed." Liam said softly, looking away quickly.

"What that idiot is trying to say is, that we're on your side, you buggers. But please get your shit together. Harry look at your man, he looks equally thirsty as he looks petrified."

"What Niall said." Zayn laughed airily and punched Louis lightly on the shoulder. "Go get your man."

 

That night Harry breathed all those answer Louis had been looking for into his lungs with soft lips and trembling hands. And it was a beautiful start for the next set of questions, that arose in daylight when Harry threw cocoa puffs at Louis' nose and when Louis blew bubblegum bubbles into Harry's face.

"Are we boyfriends now?"

"Well, you're my boy and you're my best friend, so I would say yes."

"I'm your boy?"

"My favourite boy."

 

And their friends were on their sides, always. A band made out of super glue. Super glue and secrets that were too big for a bunch of teenagers.


	2. Contract Signing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two fighters are born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to remind everyone that this is a drabble compilation and therefore a lot of things are very much over simplified. I do realize that a real contract signing is nothing like this. This is just about Harry and Louis. Nothing more.

"What did you just say?"

Harry wanted to laugh. Any other reaction seemed pointless anyway, but maybe if he laughed, those grey bearded, weary eyed men in front of him, would see how ridiculous this was? But Louis wasn't laughing, so he kept quiet. Louis would know what to do.

"Come on, boys. Break it off before more people get hurt. In this industry something like this, " The man waved his hand between Harry and Louis, his fingers short and knobbly, and in Harry's mind they looked like an inflated plastic glove, and his skin tingled with the prospect of it blowing up in his face.

“This is not good for the band. No one wants this.”

“What is this exactly? For you, I mean?” Louis' voice was loud in the office they had been ushered into a few minutes ago.

“An inconvenience.” A woman in the background coughed, her hand in front of her mouth as if that would lessen the impact.

“Boys, -” The man in front of them stapled his fingers together and put his elbows on the table. “Better break it off now before it's serious. This is just a small sacrifice you'll have to do, right? Think of what you could achieve, without this kinda baggage.”

Louis' hand found Harry's thigh, and Harry's heart thundered against his ribcage.

“This is not baggage. We're not breaking up.”

Their minder raised his eyebrows, his eyes cold. “We'll have to keep this quiet then. Do you know what that means?”

They didn't, not fully - they nodded.

“We're not breaking up.”

 

The words “They'll be over before we know it” that were said with ugly intent before the door had fully fallen shut behind them, they branded themselves into their skin like scars. They would have to become fighters. Make those scars worth something.

“You want this, too, right?” Louis whispered into Harry's nape, his arms strong around Harry's middle.

“Of course, I do, Lou. What are you talking about?”

“I didn't really…. I mean we never talked about this. I just assumed… I want you.”

“And I want you, Lou.” Harry turned around, his hair flat on the side he had been lying on. His small ear red, from where it had been pressed into the pillow, his cheek streaked with the creases of the duvet. He was just so – soft. He was so soft and Louis feared that he would break.

“I think you're it for me, Harry.” Louis breathed, knocking his head softly against Harry's forehead. His eyes closed and his heart open. “Won't stop till we surrender, right?”

They fell asleep entangled in dreams, and so full of hope, that even the moon lingered longer than normally.

The night stretched on into forever, and two fighters were born.

Fist-fighters with soft knuckles and wide eyes.


	3. Bandages and Band Stages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A silent stage with hands speaking universal truths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally a drabble for all of their tours. Everything is thrown together in this one, but in the end, everything is the same.

The stage lights were always blinding, you couldn't get used to it.

Harry squinted up against the lights, his skin heating up underneath them, his fingers clammy around his microphone.

Liam had the firm conviction that it was just Harry's stage fright that made him blink relentlessly against the floodlights, but Harry didn't listen to Liam. Harry listened to the stuttering of his heart that fell out of rhythm every time he looked at Louis, he listened to the thundering of his pulse in his ears, every time Louis started to sing, he listened to the dark whispers in his head, that told him to ignore ignore ignore.

Don't look, don't engage, don't notice at all. There had been so many rules over the past months, the better part of last year. So many rules that they were clinging to as if they were drowning in a sandstorm. But this one, this rule was the worst, and they knew, that They thought they could break them like this.They. The capital 'T'. The Dark Force as Liam had so aptly supplied once.

And they were not wrong, because Harry felt as if he was being ripped apart from the inside.

The stage, a place he had begun to call a second home, the place where he could rule the world in ripped up jeans and t-shirts and with just his words and a melody, the place where the world shrunk together to form an arena where the only thing that mattered was the joy of music and the screams and the love and the happiness - it was supposed to be a place where invisible glue held everything together. It was magic. It was another universe where only him and his boys mattered.

And Louis had been the sun. Louis was the one he turned to when the twinkling of a thousand camera stars got too bright, he was the one he laughed at when he realized that they were on a colliding course with other planets, that the next big bang was so imminent that you could taste it in the air.

It was the feeling of seeing fans line up days before the show, and it was the feeling of adding dates to their world tour along the way, because tickets were ripped out of their hands like they were the truths to eternal youth. It was the feeling of being 'Forever Young', a sign so accurately flashing in crowds around the globe.

But now, now with his sun suddenly shadowed, literally and figuratively, now it all seemed too much. It wasn't a universe he was in control of any more.

His sun was out of reach for him now, and his sun was slowly retreating back in on himself. Everything was dimmed and Liam might be wrong about Harry falling back into his habit of bad stage frights, but the Dark Force – he was right about that one.

The golden magic glue Harry had thrived off was slowly turning to black tar and he had trouble breathing through it. But Louis – it was always Louis wasn't it? Louis found a way.

He wasn't shining on stage any more and everyone felt the effects of that, but he was still the centre of everything so he found a way and it was silent, always dimmed now that they had to, but it worked and Harry could breath again. Louis could smile again. And the lights didn't seem to blinding any more. A simple thumbs-up and the universe fell back into rhythm.

Hand gestures so gentle and sweet formed by hands bruised by the circumstances. Simple signs that expressed so much more than met the eye. Signs that They didn't understand.

They wouldn't shut them down. Blue and purple fist fighter hands, soft knuckled and sweet, and they were still holding onto each other.


	4. Fake Fists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it all comes crashing down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am the most rubbish at updating. I wanted to have this up two days ago. Forgive me.

It started with “I don't want you to go” and it ended with a “Leave!”, and Louis wasn't sure how that happened, but he wanted it to stop.

Not that leaving all this behind wouldn't be the best for both of them, objectively speaking. It would mean no more hiding, no more stunts, no more of this.

No more of this feeling right here, Louis subconsciously pressed a small fist against his sternum and pressed down, trying to push the feeling out of him, no more of this and this and this. No tears, no screaming, no pain, no stress, no lies, no nothing.

They could be friends. They could be. They were. They could just be friends and all of this could be fine. Could be dealt with normally. No more strange hand holding, no more pap walks, no more tabloid lies, just rumours, normal rumours like Liam and Zayn and Niall got them. Silly things. Not this. Never would it have to be like this, if they were just friends.

Louis breathing stopped short and he choked, tears streaming down freely now, clouding his vision, clogging up his throat, cutting of his air supply.

The kitchen tiles were cold underneath him, and he didn't even know when his knees gave out under him, but he is kind of glad, that he doesn't have to stand any more, that his body was keeping him as safe as it could.

Every nerve in his body was fighting to keep him alive, and yet he just felt dead inside.

He could feel his blood rushing to the centre of his chest, pumping through his lungs, bringing life to his chokes, to his sobs, they seemed never ending, relentless, and yet oxygen was rare. He could feel his heart beating wildly against his ribs, asking for more time, more, more, more, but Louis felt as if he had nothing else to give. His hands trembled where he put them on his legs, pulling his knees up to his chest and held on.

His mind went blank, the heartbreak fogging up his brain, and suddenly his subconsciousness hit him with one image after the other. They were friends. Always.

Harry had been the first person he had really clicked with. All his friends before Harry, they were important and special in their own way, but Harry was his best friend.

He saw himself kneeling in Harry's bed at the bungalow, twisting his fingers into the comforter, while Harry silently watched, not pressuring him, not saying anything, just being there, waiting for Louis to tell him what was bothering him. And he did. He told him. That maybe he liked boys, and that he hadn't really told many people yet. Definitely not the boys, not Liam, not Niall, not even Zayn. And Harry had hugged him and had said that he was proud of him.

He remembered tickling Harry, seeing him laugh so loudly because of him. And he sees them on moving day, their mums looking at them fondly as they heave their boxes into their first flat, their home.

Faster and faster images start flashing before his eyes.

Louis cooking for Harry and Harry giving him a kiss on the cheek, saying thank you with a sparkle in his eyes and by letting Louis have the whole couch when they watched a film to bring the day to and end.

He saw Harry talking to him about tattoos, how he wanted them, why and where, and he saw himself in that tattoo parlour, saw himself snap a photo of his swollen arm, sending it to Harry, because he wanted his best friend to be the first to see it.

They were friends. They could cut all those stupid ties, who needed kisses, who needed hugs that lasted so long, who needed any of it.

Louis was done. Friends, first and foremost.

 

But then he remembered how Harry had, at night, when they were once again cuddled up against each other, how he had whispered to Louis, only for Louis to hear, that he thought that boys were pretty amazing as well.

He was reminded of how Harry had squirmed underneath him, his laughter so breathless and warm, and how he himself had held his breath, his body suspended over Harry's and how he could feel Harry in every cell of his body even though they weren't touching any more. He remembers thinking about kissing him. He remembers doing so.

And then there are pictures of him and Harry finally alone at home, cuddling, kissing, laughing, mumbling 'I love you's into exhausted muscles and sleep warm skin. This was their home now. Their family home.

Cooking for Harry, his first try at being romantic, Harry giggling when Louis had banned him from the kitchen, giggling when Louis presented his meal, giggling when Louis kissed him over the table, nearly burning himself on the candle that had been standing between them, because he had been so eager. They had both been so eager …

The photo of his red and swollen arm to tell Harry that he was in. This was just the beginning. This was the jump from the diving platform and as long as Harry was next to him, kissing oxygen into his lungs, he was ready to swim undercover.

Friends, yes, but always more. There was no escaping it.

They were Harry and Louis.

Had been. Maybe Harry wouldn't come back this time. A friend would walk away. After everything that had been said…. A friend should walk away. It would be better.

 

But he came back, he did, he did, he did, and he crumbled in front of Louis, fell into him, both of them a tangled mess on the kitchen floor, and they cried. And they kissed. And they promised each other more. More of this, a kiss, and this, a hand on bare skin that would soon be covered in black ink, and this, eyes crinkled up by laughter even though their eyelashes were still clumped together from tears, and more of this and this and this.

Everything that made them friends and everything that made them not, made them more.

Made them realize that fighting for this, was the best thing after all.


	5. On The Topic Of Hand Holding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clammy hands saying what couldn't be said in that moment, when their lungs were burning and their hearts were beating to the rhythm of a symphony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am very ill, so there might be more typos in this one than the other chapters, but meeeh. I should also probably run this by my beta first, but guess what I am an impatient bean and it's been too long since I updated this and just. I'm very sorry. Also I want to say once again that this is a drabble collection. Nothing has to make sense xD

Harry knew that Louis' hand fit perfectly into his. Palm against palm.

He knew that Louis hated it when he intertwined their fingers, wanted their hands clasped together, because “you're crushing my fingers Harold”, and “this looks stupid, I look like your child”- Louis had a lot to say on that topic.

The only time that Louis didn't complain about their fingers intertwining was when they were tangled up in bed, their fingers squeezing together, their only grasp on reality being that point of contact. Clammy hands saying what couldn't be said in that moment, when their lungs were burning and their hearts were beating to the rhythm of a symphony.

But when they did it outside, among the lads, on dates, when they were walking around aimlessly, when their was no need for such desperation, they fit together even more perfectly. Because Louis' hand fit perfectly into his. And it was a soft hand, with a wandering thumb, that would trace the veins on Harry's wrist, that would play with the rings on Harry's fingers, that would guide him in the right direction, when he was about to drift off again. Just a soft tug in the right direction, Harry willingly tumbling into Louis' soft side, all giggles and warmth, it was that, and the simple simplicity of showing that they were more than two people on their own, they were one.

Of course, that was also taken away from them. What was left, was only the tangled fingers, scratching into each other's palms as their hands screamed for what their mouths couldn't say anymore. Their hands screaming for what they couldn't say in public anymore. No hand holding for two straight lads in a straights only boy band.

And yet – they made do.

It had hard when the world had turned into a firework and everything had been fast and loud and shiny, but all they had been left with was smoke. Everything they had wanted was each other, but suddenly everyone wanted them, a piece of each of them, parts of them they weren't willing to sell, and suddenly it was hard to hold back, to hold on, to hold together.

Especially since in public their hands were tied, figuratively and literally, because touches, touches were not allowed.

But they had their brothers, the band of glue, and they made it work. For a while. Personal space was reduced to nothing between them, between the five of them, and Harry and Louis found their places in their huddles, and in their puppy piles, they found a niche where their boys built them craters.

Then came the time where the firework smoke turned into opal glass, and suddenly even glances were impossible.

They fought that as well. Proudly. The came crashing into each other whenever the public eye was turned away and closed and they would hold each other closer and tighter and more desperately every second they were allowed, hand holding a normal part in their every day routine now, to make up for the times that they couldn't.

Harry remembered the times Louis wanted to hold hands when they were brushing their teeth, and he smiled softly, feeling the ghost of Louis next to him, standing quietly on his tippy-toes, explaining that the floor was too cold for him to stand properly on his feet. And he would grin at Harry, toothpaste running down his chin, their entangled hands getting in the way of cleaning up the mess. Peppermint kisses and flooded baths, that's what Harry's memories were filled with.

And then came the time, when their glass prison splintered. And suddenly they realized that there were mostly lies built around them, a web of hateful lies told to keep them in check, lies that shackled them together, but tore them apart.

They realized that no one cared when they walked down the streets hand in hand. That no one looked twice, that even members of the biggest band in the world could love. Freely and innocently.

More and more secret rendezvous were arranged, more and more street corners became a safe haven. Dark alleys bowed around them, dark brick sighing wistfully as two boys ran down their pavement, hands entangled, laughing loudly.

Along the way, they decided to ink themselves together. Harry didn't know when it started. Had it been the plan all along? When he had gotten his first tattoo? When Louis had gotten his? Or maybe it had just been important right then and there.  
But the more freedom they saw and they more they fought for it, the more they also saw that it still was a long way to go, that lies didn't shatter as easily as illusions did. And the illusion that they might win soon was shattered before they fully turned into men.

And now there was a rope. And an anchor. And they held on.

Palm against palm.

A soft promise. Painfully inked into bruised skin. Healing what had been so shamefully torn apart.

An image that was more than the innocent connection of fondness, it was the picture of having each other's backs, and their reassurance. It was their promises, their future, their vows.

It was them, made eternal in the clasped hands on Harry's arm, it was them forever.


	6. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is not always something that is easy to hold onto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a kind of... in-between chapter. I wrote it in the present tense and not in the past tense as I did with my last chapters and it kind of has a different feel to it? It's just something else for a change *blushes* I hope you still like it xx  
> I listened to Vivaldi while writing the whole scene and somehow the music helped me envision the entire scene? I have never had that feeling before, but it was like I could see, feel, smell, (taste even) everything. It was amazing. I mainly listened to ["Winter"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nGdFHJXciAQ) out of the Four Seasons, for anyone who wants to listen to the same thing xx

The boxing ring is soft sheets, silver moonlight and sinful bodies.

The scene is love, bodies fighting to be closer to each other.

Harry is holding his breath as Louis brings his skin to life, cold fingertips running down the hard lines of his ribs, palms stretching across his chest, expanding all over Harry. From his throat to his heart, they hold his soul, as he lies still and lets himself unfold into the hands of his partner.

Louis drinks the air like a desperate man as fingers wander down the knobs of his spine, and stories are whispered into each dip of his skin, childish stories of heroes conquering mountains, stories that should make him laugh, but the air is metallic and silver, shined on by the moon, and Louis finds himself only drowning in the sound of the voice behind him.

The scene shows lovers forgetting the world for one blissful moment in time and the stars dare not blink for they do not want to miss this scene of serenity.

And still those passionate hands, those loving fingers, they are blue and weary and neither of them forget.

Later when the silver air turns into blood, to streaks of orange and pink, Harry and Louis lie awake in each other's arms, sweat drying slowly on fast cooling skin.

“I love you.” They whisper to each other, smiling.

They revel in this moment that is like a blink in time. It is like a prolonged moment of blindness, when the eye falls shut, lashes fluttering and blurring the edges of the world; you blink, and it's gone, but now they are here.

Someone glued together the eyes of time, for a short while, a little while, and for now they are caught in between one heart beat and the next.

And with the first bird's scream the spell breaks and suddenly cars pull into reverse, tires screeching, London is waking up, chimneys start smoking, umbrellas are rustling, the planet spins and spins and all around the world people fall off, into darkness. But Harry and Louis fight to hold on. To each other.

It's Harry who finds the first words. “Do you ever -”

Louis' head tilts up, his hair brushing against Harry's chin, as he searches for Harry's gaze.

“What?”

“Doubt?”

“Who?” The silence says enough. “Us?”

A nod at dawn, with feathery shadows outlining a sharp jaw and sunken eyes. Lips bitten red with love and lust, and now in the colours of a new day, with worry.

“No.”

More silence in which pixie dust starts dancing along the ceiling, illuminated golden dust. “Do you?”

There is no judgement in Louis' voice and the room seems to let go the breath it has been holding, the walls bending outwards with a sigh, the curtains billowing into the honey warm room. “Do you?"

Harry shakes his head firmly. No.

“Why are you asking then?”

“Because sometimes — ” The world is spinning maddeningly fast now. “Sometimes hope is harder to hold on to than I imagined it would be.”

And Louis understands what Harry is saying. He is not going to stop holding on to Louis, never that, but hope, their shadowy third friend, he is something different entirely.

Louis tightens his grip on Harry's hip, nails digging into soft flesh. He's holding on for him.

“Tell me a story, Hazza.” Louis mumbles against the rosy skin of Harry's chest. “Tell me about us in 5 years.”

Harry doesn't hesitate, a smile spreading across his face and warmth radiating from his skin, as he delves in. And he doesn't realize it at first, but with every word, with every whisper from his chapped lips, hope turns from a cliff into an armour. And it is holding on to Harry, lost in the beauty of his words and the worlds he paints.

“In five years we are going to be out and people won't ask stupid questions any more. They'll ask about our wedding date or about our cats, because we will have cats, three of them. And we are going to be on stage still -”

“Cats? I want a dog, Harold.”

“We'll have that, too, of course. Now don't interrupt me. I was telling a story.” Louis giggles as Harry's hand finds its way into his hair, tugging playfully at the tangled strands.

“So we're still on stage?” Louis laughs and blows a raspberry into the nearest patch of skin he can find. Harry's diaphragm vibrating under his lips.

“Of course we are. And we are going to walk on stage holding hands and we are going to talk to each other, make fun of Liam's dance moves, and the band. Remember when Josh dyed his hair? And we are going to sing our songs.”

Their songs, the ones written on long lonely plane flights, when continents were between them, when magazines turned lies into truths, when time seemed to run backwards, when tattoos itched with the absence of their counterpart.

“Only our songs? You think people will want to see that?”

Harry's laugh is loud and open, there is no need to hide his snorts in this room. “I said no interruptions!”

Harry paints picture after picture of freedom and love and worlds build out of cotton candy, where hands don't bruise and laughter is swallowed by blissful silence — not by fear. He talks until the sun settles on a soft yellow, the room leaking colour as the sun wanders higher and higher into the sky. He talks until his eyes flutter shut and sleep overcomes him.

Louis is still awake, cuddling into the body of his love, his hope, his world. Kissing warm and sleep-heavy skin as he tries to find a comfortable position to sleep in. And just before he himself falls victim to sleep, he tips his head back, his lips softly grazing Harry's ear, and he whispers: “I'll hold onto your hope, you'll hold onto mine.”


End file.
